Dr. Newton’s bland expression changed. He tried to push past and, failing, sprang on Reggie. The two locked together and swayed across the room. Reggie freed himself a moment and stooped. Dr. Newton went out of the open window. As Lomas broke into the room they heard the thud of his fall on the stones. “Good God, did he throw himself out?” Lomas cried. “No, I pitched him out,” Reggie said, smoothing his hair. Lomas rushed out of the room. Reggie, lounging after him, went to the telephone. In the forecourt of the flats the body of Dr. Newton lay. Lomas and Bell and the hall porter were fidgeting with it, a little crowd on the pavement gaping at them, when Reggie arrived. “You don’t really want me,” he said, but he bent by the body. “It’s all over. His neck’s broken. Fractured skull also. But that doesn’t matter.” Bell stood up and blew a police whistle. “Don’t do that. Don’t do it,” said Reggie irritably, his first sign of troubled nerves. “I have telephoned for the ambulance and all that. Why don’t you think of things beforehand?” Superintendent Bell was startled out of his wonted composure. “God bless my soul!” he exclaimed, and stared at Reggie. And Lomas took Reggie’s arm. “Come upstairs, Fortune, please,” he said gravely. Reggie let himself be taken up to Herbert Charlecote’s room, and when he was there again flung himself down on the couch. “Thirdly and lastly,” said he. “And that’s the end of the Charlecote case, Lomas, old dear.” “Oh, don’t take that tone,” Lomas cried. “We’re in a very difficult position, Fortune.” “My dear Lomas! Oh, my dear Lomas! We have emerged with credit from a most difficult case. We have tracked and caught a very cunning criminal, who, when taxed with the murders of which he was guilty, became desperate, and committed suicide by flinging himself from a fourth-story window.” “You said you threw him out.” “Lomas, dear, my little jokes aren’t evidence.” “You’ll have to give evidence at the inquest, you know.” Reggie nodded. “You’ll tell this suicide story?” “Sure,” said Reggie. Lomas wiped his forehead. “Damn it, man, I can’t leave it like this,” he cried. “Oh, don’t be so pedantic. The scoundrel had two murders at least on his soul. We hadn’t evidence enough to hang him. He was much too dangerous to live, and he gets his neck broke quietly and without scandal. What’s worrying you?” “And what evidence have you got?”